Hello everyone, I'm back! The wait was a little longer than I anticipated, but I'm here now! Thanks for the lovely reviews for the last chapter, and welcome aboard if you're new :D I hope that you enjoy this chapter, and please forgive any of my mistakes.

Note, this chapter makes reference to a lullaby from Strangers Like Me that Bilbo sang for Frodo. Only the first verse is outlined in this chapter, so if you want to read the whole song that I wrote, check out Chapter 111 of Strangers Like Me.

Speaking of songs, the song that inspired this chapter's title is called 'Heal Over' by KT Tunstall, and the lyrics are at the bottom for anyone who is interested. It's a beautiful song that sums sup what I was going for in this chapter :)

Read, enjoy, review!

Chapter Eleven # Heal Over #

There were birds singing, and Fíli was suspended in warm, dark nothingness. All that existed was the sound; light and beautiful and calming as a lullaby. Then, slowly, he became aware of his body. He could feel every part, every cell, and he could feel something beneath him, grounding him. It drew him down from the nothingness, and he felt a dull, aching pain in his chest. The void around him seemed to grow lighter, and he noticed an unfamiliar scent of foreign flowers.

Bag End. That was where he must be. There were birds singing, the scent of flowers, and he rarely woke to such delicate beauty in Erebor.

Wondering vaguely why it was taking him so long to wake up, Fíli savoured a deep breath, and let his eyes continue to rest. He could tell now that his bedroom curtains were open, for that was why it seemed lighter even beneath his eyelids, and that meant that it was time to start the day.

Fíli was not quite ready to start the day yet. The soft nothingness he had awoken to was still clinging to him, and he did not want to leave it just yet. It was stronger than sleep, and a thousand times more satisfying, and he longed to return, if only for a moment.

His ears were harder to command to rest, and they picked up the sound of someone sniffing. The last remnants of the nothingness dripped away, and Fíli sighed again.

Opening his eyes, he blinked a few times. Then, when he saw the ceiling, he blinked again. Beams? Why were there dark wooden beams on a flat ceiling in Bag End? That was not right at all…

A sense of dread took seed in Fíli's stomach, growing like a vine up through to his throat to choke him. Something had happened, something bad. Where was he?

There was a sharp intake of breath from his right. "Fíli?"

Kíli. Fíli turned his head to the side, smiling slightly at the sight of his brother – though he noted it looked like Kíli had not seen a comb in weeks. "That's my name…" his voice was more of rasp, but it was not painful. In fact, save the dull throb of his shoulder, he felt no pain at all. "Where are we?"

"Rivendell," Kíli gave a weary smile. "We made it, though we worried for a time that you wouldn't."

All at once, Fíli remembered. Riding from the Shire, from Bree, Weathertop, the Ringwraiths – it all came back to him like a long forgotten nightmare. He remembered the blade diving deep into his chest, and he touched that soft, white bandage that covered it. He should be in more pain, surely, but then he remembered the wonders of elven pain tonics, and things began to make more sense.

There was a darkness in Kíli's eyes, a haunted pain that made Fíli's heart hurt. He reached out, surprised by how easy it was, and took his brother's hand. "I'm sorry I worried you." After a long moment, he spoke again. "Rivendell? I cannot remember reaching Rivendell…"

"You were unconscious," said Kíli. "Drifted in and out of sleep for days, though Gandalf said you were stable. Four Nazgûl caught up with us at the Bruinen, and you grew colder then, but something Gandalf or the Elves did sent the river into a frenzy, and they were swept away downstream. It wasn't until we got here that you seemed able to truly rest. Elrond put you into a deeper sleep – he said you'd heal sooner that way."

Recollections of nightmares poked at Fíli's mind, but they did not seem very frightening in the light of day. He sat himself up in bed and rolled his shoulders. The pain in his chest grew, but it was bearable. "He was right, it seems. I feel quite well."

"I am glad to hear it," Kíli squeezed Fíli's hand. "The others, the others will be too."

Fíli swallowed. "That bad?" Kíli nodded, and his grip grew tighter around Fíli's fingers. He did not speak. "Did you say others? Do you mean Gandalf and Amad and Bilbo, or are the others here too?"

"Both," Kíli nodded, rubbing his sleeve across his eyes. "Gandalf is resting, Amad and Bilbo are at dinner, I think. The others got here yesterday, and without too much trouble, too. They had a run in with some orcs, but they all got out fine, though we lost Bali."

"Frerin's pony?" Fíli said. "How's he taken it?"

"Not well, but he'll be alright. They've all been in to see you, mind, but Elrond wouldn't let them stay long lest we wake you."

"But are you well?" Fíli pressed. He could not see any injuries, but one could never tell with Kíli. He had a terrible habit of hiding these things. "Amad, Bilbo, Gandalf – were you injured after I…"

"No, no, we're fine. Though Gandalf has been resting the last three days." Kíli's eyes betrayed his worry.

Fíli frowned. "Three days?"

"Aye. He spent much of his power and energy, he said. Saving you."

Fíli thought of how weak the wizard had looked when he first arrived at Bag End, how weary he had been on the journey. Feeling rather guilty, Fíli rubbed at his collar, feeling the dressing beneath his fingertips. Another thought – a frightening one – arrived. "Kíli… If it spent Gandalf's energy, just how bad, how bad was it?"

Kíli shifted in his seat, and Fíli waited. His brother did not like talking about injuries that befell his loved ones, but Fíli had to know. He had to. After a long moment, Kíli sighed, and spoke to the floor. "It was a Morgul Blade. Like the one that stabbed Bilbo in the Battle of Five Armies. But it hit, it hit your throat. You were choking. And one of your major arteries was nicked. You, it… Gandalf did not think he would be able to save you."

By the last word, Kíli's voice was nothing more than a whisper, and Fíli felt cold all over. Then he took a deep breath, and focused on the Mind Healer's words. He had survived. "But, he did. I'm alright." Kíli nodded, but there were tears fleeing down his cheeks now. Smiling sadly, Fíli lifted his hand up and knocked them away. "Hey, now, Kíli, don't cry. I'm alright. All things considered, I feel wonderful, truly." His brother let out a little laugh, with a half hopeful smile. "I'll be fine, Kee. Out of the two of us, who lies about injuries more?"

Kíli snorted. "That's below the belt, brother. I've got better."

"Aye, you have," Fíli said. "I'm proud of you."

"You should lie back down," said Kíli, sighing. "I wasn't supposed to keep you talking or worrying, if you woke up."

"You're doing all the worrying for me," Fíli replied, though he was still concerned about the wizard. In truth, he had been since Gandalf returned – he was clearly far from well, and Fíli hoped that the wizard had not suffered too much from healing him.

"All the same, I'd rather you rested. Healed up properly."

"Really, Kíli," Fíli laughed. "I feel fine. There's scarce any pain, I feel rested now, better than I have since we left the Shire."

"You almost died, Fee. It was a matter of seconds, of fractions of an inch. Do me a favour, nadad, listen to Lord Elrond," Kíli's voice was sombre, and his lower lip was trembling. "Please, don't make it worse."

"Alright," Fíli said, lying back down for his brother's sake, though he thought it rather unnecessary. "It's alright now, Kíli." Kíli's teeth ground together, and Fíli continued. "I mean, yes, our father has the Ring of Power, I have an injury and our wizard is tired, but other than that-"

Luckily, Kíli laughed. Fíli knew that his attempts at humour could go the wrong way with Kíli in such a state. Not that he blamed him. If it had been Kíli that had been struck, if he had watched his baby brother choke on his own blood –

No. If that had happened, Fíli would be far worse than his brave little Kíli was. Despite his silent order, his imagination showed him the image anyway. Kíli, in Bilbo's arms, bleeding and choking and dying. Then, when he tried to banish the scene he saw its reflection. He saw himself, as if from Kíli's eyes, in the same position.

A shudder ran down Fíli's spine, and he had the odd sensation that his panic was being muted along with his pain. He had felt something like it before, in Rivendell; the dulling of fear and grief. This felt a little different. Every time fear or dismay crept towards his mind they were brushed off, like a cobweb on one of Bilbo's prize ornaments. He simply could not panic.

Not that he was complaining.

"Fíli?"

"Oh, sorry," Fíli gave his brother a sheepish look. "You weren't talking, were you? Got caught up in my own thoughts."

"I wasn't talking," Kíli paused. "What were you thinking about?"

Fíli chose his words carefully. "How lucky we are to be in Rivendell."

"Nothing worse?"

"Not at all," Fíli frowned at the crease between his brother's eyebrows. "Why don't you believe me?"

It was Kíli's turn to look sheepish, though he was serious when he spoke. "Morgul blades and Nazgûl… Lord Elrond said that they can cause nightmares, and terrors at all times of day – he gave you a draught but said to keep an eye…"

Ah, that made sense. "Well, you can step down from watch duty, it seems to be working perfectly. I was actually musing over why I was unable to properly panic about anything. You should try some, brother, it's lovely."

Kíli grinned, and shook his head. "I might, now. I did not want to earlier, in case, in case I missed-"

"There's nothing to miss," Fíli promised, flicking Kíli's nose. "I am fine."

There was a muffled knock on the door, and a furious whisper. "Kíli Baggins!"

A look of guilt passed over Kíli's face, and he called out, "come in!"

Frodo and Pippin peeked around the door, cross faces melting into smiles when they saw Fíli's eyes open.

"Fíli!" Pippin cried, falling over his feet to get to the bed. Frodo was no less hasty, and all but collapsed against the side of Fíli's bed with a cry.

"You're awake!"

"Hello, boys," Fíli chuckled, slowly ruffling Frodo's hair and then poking Pippin's nose.

"How are you feeling?" asked Frodo, with an anxious glance to Kíli.

"Well," said Fíli firmly, taking Frodo's hand. "Look at me, Frodo. I am fine."

The young hobbit sagged with relief, his lips pulling into a smile that did not survive his sentence. "We were so worried – when we heard what happened…"

"Aye, it was horrible," Fíli nodded, keeping his voice matter-of-fact, "and I've heard I was very lucky."

Kíli made a quiet scoffing noise in the back of his throat. "That's an understatement."

"Perhaps," said Fíli, "but nevertheless, I feel alright now. Very little pain, and I am very comfortable. So – why were you whispering so angrily at this lump through the door?" He reached out and slapped Kíli's hand, though he let his fingers linger on his brother's skin for a long moment. Anything to chase the sorrow from Kíli's eyes.

Frodo put his hands on his hips and raised his eyebrows at Kíli. "Because he was supposed to come for tea an hour ago, and he hasn't eaten all day."

"That's not true," protested Kíli softly. "When Lord Elrond came to check in he had someone bring me something."

"A few biscuits and some cheese does not a dinner make," Pippin said wisely. The youngest of their hobbits had already made himself comfortable sitting on the bed beside Fíli. "Besides, the longer we waited for you, the longer Bilbo made us wait."

"Wait for what?" Fíli said, frowning at Kíli to show his disapproval even as he looked back to Pippin.

"The elves won't let us all in to see you at once," Pippin's scowl told Fíli exactly how the hobbit felt about that. "So, Bilbo drew up a rota, and it's our turn now but he was hoping Kíli'd have the brains to come down unprompted. A stupid hope. Even I knew that was wishful thinking."

Fíli stared at his younger brother, eyebrows raised, but Kíli met his glance with equal strength.

"I made a promise, Fíli. I do not intend to break it."

It took him less than a second to know what Kíli was referring to, and his guilt returned. Kíli must have thought history was repeating itself – Fíli injured, on death's door, saved in an elven hall.

Finishing his story, the awful horror that was now his, Fíli looked to his brother, though he did not know what Kíli could do.

"It's over," Kíli whispered, looking as if he was about to throw up. "It's over now, you're safe…"

The young dwarf was fidgeting, his chest rising and falling faster even than Fíli's, and then he stood up, and turned toward the door. Fíli's lungs collapsed in on his heart.

Leaving? Kíli, leaving? Why, why would he do that?

"Kíli, no!" Fíli sobbed, reaching out for Kíli, who flinched away. "Please, please don't leave me! Please, Kíli I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't leave me, please, please, please-"

"Stop!" Kíli cried, shaking from head to toe. He was crying, and he took another stumbling step towards the door.

He had said too much – Fíli had given Kíli too many details, too much to fear. He had put his brother through the very grief he had felt when they lost Kíli, all those years ago. The grief he had never, ever wanted his little Kíli to feel.

"I'm sorry," Fíli begged, stretching out his hand. "Please, please Kíli, don't leave me!"

"No," Kíli swallowed, shaking his head. "No, Fíli. No. You do have nothing to be sorry for."

"Please," the whisper was so broken Fíli wondered if it had reached his brother's ears. "Please, Kee…"

"I'm not going anywhere," Kíli replied shakily. "I won't leave you, Fíli. I won't leave, I promise."

Fíli whimpered in relief. "You promise?"

"I swear," Kíli stumbled back, falling onto the bed wrapping his arms around Fíli. Within a heartbeat, Fíli felt safe, safe and loved and protected. And he could breathe. "Fee, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Fíli, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"What for?" Fíli's mumble was muffled by Kíli's chest.

"I left," Kíli sobbed, tightening his grip on his brother. "I couldn't, I couldn't stand it, you looked so, you looked like you were dead and I was so sure I'd lost you and I just, I couldn't take it so I left, I left you, I'm sorry! Fee, I'm so, so, sorry!"

Fíli stiffened for a moment. He had done that. He had put Kíli through the grief of losing a brother. He strengthened his embrace with all the strength that he had.

"I love you, Kíli."

Kíli sobbed. "I love you too, Fíli. I love you so much, I'm so sorry!"

"Don't be," Fíli said. "I understand."

With a soft keen, Kíli shifted and Fíli's heart jolted. His fingers tightened, and Kíli made a soft, shushing noise.

"I'm not leaving," he promised. "I swear to you, Fíli, I won't! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I won't leave you again. Not ever."

There was only one word that Fíli had the strength to say. "Good."

Fíli took a long, deep breath. He was not there now. That torture had passed long ago, and he was not afraid now. But he had put Kíli through that again. He had forced Kíli to relive those dark days while he waited to see if Fíli would even survive.

"That promise," said Fíli softly, "was made a long time ago. And I believe I made the same promise once myself."

"More than once," replied Kíli.

"But I am awake now," Fíli said, taking Kíli's hand and squeezing it. "And I give my permission – and my order – for you to go and get some hot supper into your belly."

Kíli nodded slowly. "Very well. I'll be back later." Standing up, Kíli headed to the door, only to pause and point at Frodo and Pippin. "Don't you worry him, or weary him, or wear him out."

"We won't," Frodo promised, an unusual solemn look in his eyes. Pippin nodded in agreement, and Kíli ducked out of the room.

"What promise are you talking about?"

"Pippin!" Frodo admonished. "That's private."

Fíli smiled. A pleasant sleepiness was beginning to creep up on him. "Ah, don't fight lads. Close your mouth, Pip, you'll catch a fly. Again. Long ago, now, Kíli and I promised each other never to abandon each other."

"He'd hardly be abandoning you," scoffed Pippin. "It's supper!"

"I know that, but Kíli thinks in funny ways sometimes."

For a long while, there was silence, and it was very comfortable. Fíli loved each and every one of his hobbits and dwarven relations fiercely and deeply, but of all the young ones he was closest with Frodo and Pippin.

He had come to see Frodo as a little brother, and he was often the youngest Baggins' first confidant. As for Pippin, well… Fíli had been Pippin's favourite since day one. Sometimes, when Pippin was tired, Fíli would catch him referring to 'my Fíli.' It was a name and a title all in one, and Fíli was proud to bear it. It reminded him of Kíli saying 'my Bilbo.'

Unsurprisingly, it was Pippin that broke the silence. However, the words were not what Fíli had expected. "Fíli, are… are you really alright? Or are you just saying that to make us feel better?"

Fili looked up at Pippin, and then reached up and poked the hobbit's nose. "Ah, Pippin. I'm fine. I told no lies, I feel very little pain. Except in my neck when I look up at you like this."

Pippin did not smile. He simply hung his head, and kept his eyes on the bandage poking out from the top of Fíli's nightshirt.

Sighing, Fíli turned his head to look at Frodo. The young hobbit's eyes were also fixed on the wound, and he looked even grimmer than Pippin. "What's on your mind, then?"

"I," Frodo swallowed, "I cannot help but think it should've been me."

Fíli's heart went cold. "I beg your pardon?"

"I should've been there, I should've helped, it should've been-"

"Frodo Baggins," Fíli lowered his voice, "don't you ever, ever say that again. Do you hear me? This was my choice, and my burden to bear. I am glad you were not there. It is not something that I would want you to see, let alone feel."

"I should have had a choice, too," Frodo croaked, looking more and more like a frightened child. "I, I am an adult, I could have…"

"No," Fíli shook his head, beckoning Frodo to come closer to the bed. He seized the young hobbit's hand. "You listen to me, you take that guilt and you let it go. It is not yours to carry, nadadith. Let it go."

Dropping his head with watering eyes, Frodo nodded.

"Now," Fíli said firmly, "I meant what I said – I am going to get a crick in my neck looking up like this. Do an injured dwarf a favour and lie down."

Finally, his boys cracked small smiles, and laid down on either side of his bed. Fíli put his arms around them and let them snuggle up the way that they would when they were children.

Or drunk. Or on the road.

Or sleepy.

Thorin had often complained about the impression that it left upon visiting nobles to see snoozing piles of princes, lords and ladies, but there was no place as safe or as comfortable as the arms of your loved ones. At least, that is what Fíli thought.

"Fíli?" Pippin murmured.

"Mm?"

"I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," Fíli closed his eyes. "And I am glad that you are here. Kíli said you'd had trouble with orcs?"

"Just a little," Frodo said. "Enough to scare us, not enough to hurt us."

"Good," Fíli paused, and then yawned.

Frodo sat up anxiously. "Do you need more sleep?"

"You only just woke up!" Pippin cried.

"I am a little tired," Fíli nodded, smiling at Frodo. "Healing and potions can do that to you."

"Do," Frodo looked as though his words tasted sour, "do you want us to leave you?"

Before Fíli could reply, Pippin snorted. "Well, I'm not going anywhere, whether you want me to or not. And that is that."

"I think your question has been answered," drawled Fíli, and then his smile softened. "But I would not wish you to leave, in any case. You may stay as long as you are willing. Besides, I do not think I could sleep just yet. Some stories, or some songs might do me good."

Immediately, the two boys began to bicker about who had a better tale to tell, and Fíli felt relieved. Just as he had hoped, the stories that Frodo and Pippin began to tell took their minds back to happier times and lighter days, and Fíli felt his own heart lighten all the more for hearing them. Finally, though he could barely keep his eyes open.

"Good," he yawned, "good story, Pippin. Your turn Frodo."

The young hobbit snorted softly. "You look like you need a lullaby, not a story."

"Go on then," Fíli grinned, closing his eyes. "Durin knows I have sung you enough in my time."

Frodo rolled his eyes, but he was a Baggins through and through, and just as it was with Kíli and Bilbo, it was not difficult to coax the lad into singing.

"The old man had a daughter fair

Scarce in her tweens when summons came

Bidding her father take up arms

And follow the army away.

She watched him take with shaking arms

His worn cloak and rusting sword

And she begged him not to go,

To die at the whim of a lord."

By the end of the first verse, Fíli was snoozing, and Pippin's eyes closed halfway through the song. Though Frodo sang to the end, he was soon coaxed into sleep, the feeling of Fíli's chest rising and falling against his cheek the only lullaby that he needed. Neither Frodo nor Pippin had slept more than a few hours since the orc attack, and not at all since they discovered what had happened on Weathertop.

Pippin wanted to sleep, badly, but he had a job to do. A job that his heart would not let him rest from. He propped open his weary eyes, and he set up his watch.

His watch on Fíli's breathing.

It had been over a century since Gandalf had visited Ael o Alassë. Of course, it had been a long time since he had been granted the luxury of time to himself, but even before the days grew so hasty and dark he had not returned to the so called 'Pool of Happiness.' He used to visit often, many centuries ago when the days were lighter and Celebrían, wife of Elrond had still dwelt upon the earth.

Hidden in a dell just outside of the heart of Rivendell, Ael o Alassë was a perfectly circular pool of starlit water, surrounded by a ring of pale bark trees with leaves of shining silver. They were akin to the famed mallorn trees of Lothlórien, and had been planted by Lord Elrond around the pool as a gift to his new wife when she first came to Imladris

Whether in the dead of a starless night, or the heat of a cloudless day, the water of the pool sparkled, and the lilies that floated on the surface could be found in no other place on the earth. On the day that he and Celebrían were wed, Lord Elrond had set the first two flowers adrift. They were the silver blue shade of moonlight, and simple in their beauty. Two more of a deeper shade had bloomed when Elladan and Elrohir were born, and the final, midnight blue flower had opened at the birth of Arwen.

One of the silver blue flowers had closed. It still rested on the pool, and did not wither or rot, but its petals had not opened for over four hundred years. They had been closed since Celebrían, in her anguish, crossed the sea to Valinor.

It was then that Gandalf's visits to Ael o Alassë became more frequent. It was still a place of peace and love, but it was tinted with sorrow, and rarely visited by Elrond's household.

For the first time, Gandalf felt that he truly understood the Lady's decision to leave. When you had been tormented for so long, when you spent all your light just to stay alive, it was easy for a soul to seek solace the world could no longer provide.

Sighing, the wizard lowered his weary body onto the smooth stone at the pool's edge, and eased off his elven slippers. He dipped his lower legs into the cool water, and a little of his tension eased. The water felt wonderful, but gazing at his feet brought no comfort. They were blackened and blistered, and only a few slithers of stark white skin seemed unharmed. He would have thought they were simply filthy, had he not known better.

The day after they arrived in Rivendell, Gandalf had been taken to the baths so that his wounds could be identified and healed. Not that he had needed much convincing – though Gandalf had never been as concerned with cleanliness as elves or hobbits he had been craving a bath for longer than he could remember.

It had taken no less than two hours to scrub away the years upon years of filth that had matted against his skin. Long dried blood had tugged against poorly healed wounds he had forgotten, and he had been forced to change into fresh water when his first bath turned black.

Clearing away the grime had, at first, made Gandalf feel worse. He was forced to agree with the hobbits, for he could clearly see that he was emaciated. There were more wounds than he had expected, from unhealed lacerations from the lashes of Mordor to smaller, infected wounds that had not had time to heal.

However, with Elrond's help the wounds were now on their way to repair, and he had time to worry about his deeper fear.

Gandalf felt empty.

Never before had he pushed himself to such limits, spent so much power in such a short time, or in such a weakened state, and hopelessness seemed to cling to him like a heavy mist. Empty was the only word that he could conjure to describe how he felt.

The closed petals of a silver-blue lily brushed past his shins, and he took a sharp breath in. The flower floated back towards the centre of the pool and the other lilies.

"May I join you?"

Gandalf jumped, looking up at the elf entering the dell. "Glorfindel," he sighed, unable (and unwilling) to stop a wry smile creeping onto his face. "It's you."

"Indeed," his old friend bowed his head. "I am sorry for startling you, mellon. Ael o Alassë is a place for peace, and should you prefer solitude I shall not be offended."

"By all means, join me," Gandalf said. "I do not mind."

Glorfindel stepped to a nearby stone and sat down, smiling sadly at the wizard. "So, how do you feel?"

Gandalf sighed. "Drained, I suppose, would be the word to use. Or empty."

Speaking of such things with Glorfindel was easier than it was with his mortal friends. They thought him so strong, so infallible, and evidence of the contrary had been known to shake them. But Gandalf had known Glorfindel in Valinor, long before either of them were sent to Middle Earth, and he bore no shame or guilt in confiding in him.

"I am not surprised," Glorfindel's eyebrows furrowed. "Your power is not limitless, my friend."

"I know," Gandalf grumbled, though again a smile was called to his face. "That is what I told the Bagginses upon Weathertop."

"It was bravely done, saving the prince. But it was not particularly wise…"

"I know," Gandalf repeated. "But I could not let him die, Glorfindel. Not like that. It was not his time to go."

"Were you not there, it would have been," the elf said gently.

"But I was there!" the wizard's voice grew cross, and he closed his eyes. He sighed, and softened his tone. "I have failed his family too often, my friend. I gave his grandfather up for dead, and was unable to save him when at last I found his prison. I was not there when the dragon came, and I could offer no aid at the Battle of Moria."

"It is not your duty to protect every dwarf in the world," reminded Glorfindel.

"No, but they are my friends." Keeping his eyes closed, Gandalf allowed the darkness to spill from past to present. With any luck, it would drain out of him entirely, and be swallowed by the light of the pool. "When I was in Mordor, they often brought prisoners before me. Dwarves, men, women, elves, even children. I was made to watch their torment, their suffering. Their deaths. It pleased the 'lords' of Mordor to dangle an innocent life before me, one that I could call from the brink of death if I had only my hands. I never had my hands."

Bitterness punctuated his every word, and Glorfindel was silent. A faint breeze blew Gandalf's hair across his face, and he could smell the distant scent of baking. It seemed that the hobbits were in the kitchens again. The thought strengthened his heart a little, and he took the elf's silence as leave to continue.

"I could not save them. Not a single soul. When I escaped, I made my way to the prison, but it was a tomb. Only one had survived, an elfling too tortured to tell me her own name. She perished before we could even leave the cursed tower, and all the comfort I could give her was my hand," he took a deep, steadying breath, and felt tears willing his eyes to open so that they could spill free. "When I saw Fíli on Weathertop, I saw all of them. The ones I could not save. And a dear friend of mine, one of the most kind-hearted and cheerful dwarves I have ever met, was to join them. I could not let that happen, I had to do something."

Eventually, Glorfindel spoke. "I am glad that you did. I said that it was unwise, not that it was wrongfully done. And I am sorry to hear of such suffering, Olórin. For your sake, and for the sake of those less fortunate." Gandalf opened his eyes, and the tears wasted no time in escaping. Glorfindel's own eyes were misted with tears, and he spoke in an even softer tone. "We will mourn with you, if that is what you need. It is no doubt what the poor souls deserve."

Gandalf nodded, and again they fell to silence. Finally, he spoke the question that worried him most. "How long do you suppose I shall be like this? Weakened, powerless..."

"You are not powerless, Olórin, though I know what you mean to say. It will depend, but if you rest and allow your body to recover, your spirit will follow. For you took on five Nazgûl in a weakened state, and then performed a healing ritual that had you transfer your life force to Fíli, when you had so little of it left yourself. You could have died, Olórin. You were lucky to make it to Rivendell – if Elrond had not enchanted the Bruinen already I doubt you'd have escaped the final four wraiths. You were almost as weak as Fíli when you arrived, do not forget that. Allow yourself the time to heal," the elf said firmly. "However, given that you are in Imladris, I think that your recovery will be swift. By the month's end, I do not doubt, you will be just as capable of disturbing the peace as usual."

"The month's end," cursed Gandalf. "There is so much to be done!"

"Indeed, but much of it can be done without running around like a battle-crazed dwarf, and we have a reprieve here. For now, Rivendell will hold." Glorfindel's fingers dipped into the water, and traced circles onto its surface. "Heal, rest, and your power will return in full." When Gandalf did not reply, Glorfindel placed a hand on his shoulder. "My dear friend, you have not had a moment of safety or peace in almost a decade. Your hardship is over now, Olórin. You may rest, before the next task begins. Allow us to worry on your behalf in the meantime."

"I will do my best," the wizard promised, "but I fear I do not know how to rest, anymore."

"Then it is a good thing we are currently hosting a party of hobbits," said the elf, "for they know better than any how to enjoy life's simple pleasures."

Gandalf smiled.

I hope you enjoyed that somewhat angsty chapter, I shall try and update as soon as I can :D

It's very hard to write our poor Gandalf in such a state, so I hope I have done him justice, what do you think?

Please do leave a review if you can, it makes my day and helps me so much to know that people are reading, and enjoying (or not!) the story.

Have a good day :D

Note : Heal Over, by KT Tunstall

It isn't very difficult to see why
You are the way you are
Doesn't take a genius to realize
That sometimes life is hard
It's gonna take time
But you'll just have to wait
You're gonna be fine
But in the meantime

Come over here lady
Let me wipe your tears away
Come a little nearer baby
'Cause you'll heal over
Heal over
Heal over someday

And I don't wanna hear you tell yourself
That these feelings are in the past
You know it doesn't mean they're off the shelf
Because pain is built to last
Everybody sails alone
But we can travel side by side
Even if you fail
You know that no one really minds

Come over here lady
Let me wipe your tears away
Come a little nearer baby
Cause you'll heal over
Heal over
Heal over someday

Don't hold on but don't let go
I know it's so hard
You've got to try to trust yourself
I know it's so hard, so hard

Come over here lady
Let me wipe your tears away
Come a little nearer baby
Cause you'll heal over
Heal over
Heal over someday

Yeah you're gonna heal over